Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
WILLOW—THE NEXT DAY
I wake up slowly. It’s softer than that—like I’m floating somewhere between sleep and reality, warm and still and… safe. Which doesn’t make any sense. Because the last thing I remember is cold rain and rushing water and fear so sharp it felt like it might split me in half.
But this? This feels… different. There’s something brushing through my hair. Slow. Careful. Like whoever’s doing it is trying not to wake me. My brow furrows slightly, my eyes fluttering open—And everything comes rushing back.
The storm. The water. The roof. The helicopter.
“Hey,” a low voice murmurs.
My breath catches.
Garrison.
He’s sitting beside me on a narrow cot, one hand still lightly tangled in my hair, the other holding a steaming cup of coffee. His eyes are on me, softer than I’ve ever seen them, like he’s been watching me for a while.
“You’re awake.”
I blink up at him, disoriented for half a second before I push myself up slightly on my elbows. The room comes into focus around us—rows of cots, people moving quietly, the low hum of voices.
A shelter. Right.
I swallow, my throat dry. “How long was I out?”
“Few hours,” he says. “You needed it.”
His hand lingers in my hair for just a second longer before he seems to catch himself and pulls it back, like he’s crossing a line he shouldn’t.
I miss it instantly. Which is… a problem.
“Here,” he says, holding out the cup. “Careful. It’s hot.”
I take it from him, my fingers brushing his for the briefest moment. That same spark. It’s still there. Just like before.
I wrap both hands around the cup, letting the heat seep into my skin. “Thank you.”
He nods once, watching me like he’s making sure I’m really okay.
And then it hits me. Everything else.
I sit up straighter, panic flaring. “My dad—”
“We’re going to find him,” Garrison says immediately, cutting me off before I can spiral.
His voice is steady. Certain.
I latch onto it without hesitation. “You don’t know that.”
“I know,” he says, just as firm. “And I’m going to help you.”
My chest tightens. I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him.
He leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze locked on mine. “I’ve got some time,” he says. “They’ve got other teams out covering rescues right now. I can help you look.”
“You’d do that?” I ask, the question slipping out before I can stop it.
His expression shifts, something almost incredulous flashing across his face.
“Willow,” he says quietly, “of course I would.”
Something in my chest cracks open a little wider. Because he means it. I can see it.
I nod quickly, my grip tightening on the coffee cup. “Okay. Okay, we need to—” I glance down at myself, suddenly aware of how damp and uncomfortable I still feel. “I need to change.”
“Yeah,” he says, like he already thought of that. He reaches down beside the cot and lifts a small bundle. “Got you something.”
I take it from him, unfolding it slightly. Clothes. Clean and dry. Way too big—but I don’t care.
Relief floods through me. “Thank you.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing, but I catch the way his eyes soften again. “There’s a changing area set up over there.”
I follow his gaze to a section of the shelter partitioned off with makeshift curtains.
I nod. “I’ll be quick.”
He stands as I do, giving me space, but I can still feel him there. Still feel his presence like something solid and grounding at my back.
Like if I reach for him— He’ll still be there. I slip into the changing area, pulling the curtain closed behind me. For a second, I just stand there. The clothes clutched in my hands.
And all I can think about is him. The way he held me. The way he said he wouldn’t let anything happen to me again. My fingers tighten slightly in the fabric.
Because whatever this is—It’s not over. It never really ended.
I shake my head, forcing myself to focus, and quickly change into the dry clothes. They hang off me, the shirt swallowing my frame, the sleeves too long, but they’re warm.
I step back out, pushing the curtain aside.
Garrison’s right where I left him. Of course he is. His gaze lifts the second I appear.
“You good?” he asks, his voice a little rougher than before.
I nod. “Yeah.”
His eyes linger for half a second longer, then he clears his throat, turning slightly. “Alright. Let’s go.”
We move together, weaving through the shelter, past people wrapped in blankets, past volunteers handing out food and water. The air is thick with exhaustion. With relief.
I stay close to him without thinking. Not touching. Just… close.
Outside, the storm has passed, but it’s left its mark. The sky is gray and heavy. The ground is soaked, littered with debris. And the water—the water is still everywhere.
Garrison leads me toward a dark SUV parked near the edge of the lot. He opens the passenger door for me without a word.
“Willow,” he says softly.
I look up at him.
His expression is steady. Reassuring.
“I’ve got you,” he says again.
That same promise. That same certainty. I nod, climbing into the seat. He closes the door behind me, then rounds the front of the SUV and gets in on the driver’s side. The engine starts with a low rumble.
For a second, neither of us says anything.
We just sit there. Breathing. Existing in the same space again. Then he glances over at me. “Where do we start?”
I swallow, my heart picking up speed again—not from fear this time, but from something else entirely.
“Home,” I say quietly. “We start at home.”
He nods once. No hesitation.
“Then that’s where we’re going.”
And as the SUV pulls forward, carrying us out into the aftermath of the storm—the roads barely look like roads anymore.
Water still pools in the low spots, debris scattered everywhere—branches, pieces of roofs, things I don’t want to think too hard about. The SUV moves carefully through it all, tires crunching and splashing as Garrison navigates around what he can.
I sit beside him, hands folded tightly in my lap.
We drive past my house. No sign of dad.
“Should we check another shelter?” He asks.
“Sure.” I say uncomfortably.
The silence stretches for a while. Not uncomfortable. Just… heavy. Like there’s too much sitting between us and neither of us knows where to start. He exhales slowly, one hand steady on the wheel.
“You okay?” he asks, glancing over at me.
I nod automatically. “Yeah.”
It’s not a lie. Not entirely. But it’s not the whole truth either.
I stare out the window for a second, watching the world pass by in pieces. “I didn’t know if you were coming,” I admit quietly.
His grip on the wheel tightens just slightly.
“I was always coming,” he says.
Something in my chest pulls tight.
“I didn’t know that,” I whisper.
He’s quiet for a beat.
Then, softer, “I should’ve made sure you did.”
I turn to look at him.
He looks tired. There are shadows under his eyes, tension in his jaw like he hasn’t fully relaxed in… days. Maybe longer.
But he still came. For me.
“I missed you,” I say before I can stop myself.
The words hang in the air between us. His breath catches—just slightly—but I see it. Feel it. He doesn’t look at me right away. When he finally does—it hits.
“I missed you too,” he says.
No hesitation. My heart stumbles over itself.
I swallow, my fingers tightening in my lap. “That’s… probably not something we’re supposed to say.”
A faint, humorless smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Probably not.”
“But it’s true.”
“Yeah,” he says. “It is.”
The SUV slows as we approach a light that’s miraculously still working, blinking yellow through the gray haze of the morning.
He stops. For a second, neither of us moves. Neither of us looks away. His eyes lock onto mine, and everything else—
The storm. The damage. The fear—It all fades.
There’s just him. Just this. That same pull. Stronger now. My breath catches, my lips parting slightly without meaning to.
He notices. I see the moment it registers. The way his gaze flickers down—Then back up.
And stays there. The air in the car feels too thick. Too charged.
I don’t even realize I’m moving until my hand shifts. Just slightly. Just enough that it brushes against his on the center console. He stills. For a second, I think he’s going to pull away.
He doesn’t. Instead—His fingers turn. And slide into mine. It’s slow.
Careful. Like we’re both testing something fragile.
My heart jumps into my throat the second our hands connect. His hands are warm and comforting. I lace my fingers with his without thinking, holding on like I’ve been waiting to do this for far longer than I know.
A soft breath leaves me, my eyes closing for just a second as everything in me settles. This is what I’ve been missing. I open my eyes again, meeting his.
And the look on his face—It mirrors everything I’m feeling.
That same pull. That same need. That same impossible, undeniable connection.
“I want to kiss you,” I say.
The words slip out before I can stop them. Before I can think better of them. Before I can remind myself why I shouldn’t.
His eyes darken instantly. His grip on my hand tightens.
“Willow…”
“I do,” I press, my voice softer now but no less certain. “I’ve been thinking about it since—”
“The garage,” he finishes quietly.
I nod. His jaw tightens.
“I know,” he says.
“You know?”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about it either.”
That sends a rush of heat through me.
Because I knew it. I felt it. But hearing him say it—It’s different.
“Then why—” My voice wavers slightly. “Why are we pretending this isn’t—”
“Because it can’t be,” he cuts in, his voice rough now.
The words hit like a splash of cold water.
I blink at him. “Why not?”
He looks away first this time, his grip on my hand loosening just slightly—but not letting go.
“You know why,” he says.
My chest tightens.
“My dad—”
“Your dad,” he confirms.
The promise. The one he made. The one I never asked for—but understand anyway.
“He told you to stay away from me,” I say quietly.
Garrison nods once.
“I gave him my word.”
I swallow hard. “That doesn’t mean—”
“It means everything,” he says, sharper now.
I flinch slightly at the intensity in his voice. He exhales immediately after, like he didn’t mean for it to come out that way.
“I can’t break that,” he says, softer now. “I won’t.”
I search his face, my heart twisting painfully in my chest. “Even if you want to?”
His eyes snap back to mine. And there it is. All of it. Unfiltered.
“I want it more than you do,” he says, his voice low, strained. “Don’t get that twisted.”
My breath catches.
“Then—”
“But I won’t do it,” he continues, cutting me off again. “I can’t be that guy. Not to him. Not after everything.”
The weight of that settles over me. Because I know what my dad means to him. I know the history. The loyalty. The bond that existed long before I was even old enough to understand it.
And I know—He’s not lying.
He won’t break that promise. Even for me. My fingers tighten around his one last time before I slowly let go. The loss of contact is immediate.
“Okay,” I say quietly.
I hate how small my voice sounds. I hate how much it hurts. But I get it.
“I understand.”
He watches me for a second longer, like he wants to say something else. But there’s nothing to fix. Not right now.
The light changes. He turns his attention back to the road, his hands gripping the wheel a little tighter than before. We drive in silence again.
This time, it’s different. Not just heavy—But aching.
After a few minutes, a large building comes into view ahead, surrounded by emergency vehicles and people moving in and out. Another shelter. Garrison slows the SUV, pulling into the crowded lot.
“We’ll check here,” he says, his voice back to steady, controlled.
Professional. Like he’s putting the wall back up. I nod, even though my chest still feels tight.
“Yeah.”
He parks, cutting the engine. For a second, neither of us moves. Then he reaches for the door. And just like that—It’s gone. Replaced by reality and the search and a million other things that matter more.
I follow him out of the car, my heart still caught somewhere between what I want—And what we can never have.